


favor without a price

by wednesday



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Breeding, Come Inflation, Fuck Or Die, Large Cock, M/M, Monsters, Other, Painful Sex, Something Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25538854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/pseuds/wednesday
Summary: When Geralt offers to return the favor if the Unseen Elder will help, he's taken up on it. The price he has to pay for that help is nothing he could have imagined.
Relationships: Dettlaff van der Eretein/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 8
Kudos: 158
Collections: Multifandom Horror Exchange (2020)





	favor without a price

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TrashyTime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashyTime/gifts).



“Help me, and I’ll return the favor,” Geralt barely gets the words out, falters too much over them. He doesn’t want to, but he has to do something, has to offer something. He’s equally worried about finding a way to stop Dettlaff and about making sure Regis doesn’t die here, doesn’t stay trapped here, still as a statue forever. 

The Unseen laughs a creaky, deceptively brittle laugh and then just looks at Geralt. Looks at him and says nothing, doesn’t ask what favor Geralt could possibly do him, nor dismisses the offer outright as Geralt was both silently dreading and hoping. The pale, shining eyes stay on him. Feels like the Unseen is for the first time really looking at Geralt, seeing him. Geralt could really do without being seen right now. There’s something even more eerie about that luminous stare than there was before. 

“You will,” is all the Unseen says. Not a question, a promise or a threat or both, and Geralt already regrets offering, but dammit, he has to stop Dettlaff. Has to see this to the end, even if he really wishes now that he’d tried to free Syanna instead. 

“You _will_ ,” the Unseen repeats. The words echo in the cave unnaturally, grate against Geralt’s ears. The Unseen turns away, walks deeper into the caves. 

“Hey! But –” Geralt starts. _But what about Dettlaff?_ The Unseen ignores him, deems him barely more interesting than swine probably. 

Geralt’s still debating if it’s worth it, trying to follow and once again ask the Unseen to summon Dettlaff, when an unnatural smoke raises from the uneven ground. It doesn’t really smell like anything, but it makes the hairs on the back of Geralt’s neck raise. Makes Geralt’s heart stutter and then start beating twice as fast with the feeling of danger. _Run_ , a voice in his mind screams, _run now, while you still can_. 

Geralt doesn’t run, of course he doesn’t. Can’t leave without Regis. And he’s a witcher, there’s nothing that could–– But that’s a lie, as the Unseen already demonstrated all too well earlier. 

“You want to kill one of our kind,” the Elder’s voice echoes eerily from somewhere further into the caves. “You will give us something of equal value, before you are permitted to try.” 

The smoke swirls in a large circle around Geralt and when it clears, there are lines on the ground. A magic circle of some kind, unfamiliar sigils all around it. Geralt tries to step back, get off it and finds he can’t cross the line. Feels like trying to walk through a solid wall. 

Fuck. 

Regis is still frozen and Geralt’s pretty certain calling for the Unseen would land him into even more trouble than whatever this is. What the hell would be of equal value as Dettlaff’s life? Not Geralt’s life, since they’ve established he’s the slightly bothersome livestock here, and since the Unseen expects him to be able to try to kill Dettlaff after. So what... 

“What have you _done_?” The voice behind Geralt sounds rough and monstrous enough that for a moment he thinks it’s the Unseen, come back just in time to find Geralt accidentally wrecking his cave. Except Geralt did absolutely nothing to cause this. And when he turns around, instead of the Unseen he finds Dettlaff. His face is changed, turned and looking more beast than man, but it’s him. 

Geralt was really hoping to have Regis help him with this part. But now he’s here, trapped in the vampire cave with an enraged Dettlaff. Unseen filled his part of the deal, at least. 

Dettlaff looks behind Geralt, sees Regis and makes a broken sound. Then he looks back at Geralt and stumbles forward. Shakes his head like he’s resisting some compulsion, but it doesn’t seem to work. He takes several shaky steps towards Geralt. The moment he crosses the outer line of the magic circle, he stops and falls to his knees, razor sharp claws extending from his fingers and gripping the uneven ground. 

“ _What have you done_ ,” Dettlaff growls out, and he almost sounds afraid even through his monstrous guise. Cold shivers race down Geralt’s spine. That voice in his mind is now nothing but a continuous whine of an animal backed into a corner. 

“Mind telling me what that is?” Geralt asks and really wants to look away, turn around and find some way to avoid the answer. Doesn’t know what the hell it is about this place that suddenly has him so spooked. 

In a flash Dettlaff crosses the space between them and is on Geralt. He brings them both to the ground and growls in Geralt’s face, far too many teeth far too close. 

“What that is,” he growls, and claws at Geralt’s armor and clothes, “what that _is_ , he asks.” 

There’s not much Geralt can do, swords trapped underneath him and not nearly enough strength to stop a higher vampire by hand. He expects to get very painfully acquainted with those claws any moment, but then Dettlaff grabs him by the hand and pulls, flips Geralt around so fast he barely has time to figure out which side is up and which down. 

He can feel Dettlaff’s harsh breaths against the back of his head, his neck. Fuck, the healing potion barely saved him after the Unseen bit him, if he loses any more blood… Geralt tries to struggle against the hold, against Dettlaff’s immovable weight above him. 

And then Dettlaff tears away Geralt’s shredded clothes. 

Geralt struggles, puts as much force into it as he can without breaking his own bones, but Dettlaff holds him, gathers his other hand behind his back as well and holds Geralt still. “It’s this,” Dettlaff hisses so close to Geralt’s ear that he can feel hot air and spit against his skin. And then he can also feel something press against his backside. It’s, fuck, it’s Dettlaff’s cock, hard and pressing insistently against Geralt’s ass. 

“This is what you’ve done,” Dettlaff says, and thrusts, forces his cock inside Geralt. 

Geralt grunts, tries to breathe through the pain. For a moment Dettlaff pauses and breathes heavily against the back of Geralt’s neck. Geralt gets the impossible impression that Dettlaff is trying to resist, to not hurt Geralt. Fuck, maybe he is, maybe this is all the magic, and fucking _hell_ , that doesn’t help Geralt at all when Dettlaff is done waiting and presses his cock the rest of the way in in one long thrust. 

Dettlaff starts thrusting immediately, fucks Geralt with hard thrusts like he’s trying to fuck all of his anger into Geralt. Then he grips Geralt’s hip, moves Geralt effortlessly until Geralt gets his knees under himself. His face is still down, pressed against the ground and his hands are still trapped in a steel grip behind his back. But Dettlaff only cares about Geralt’s ass right now, so he doesn’t bother making any of it less uncomfortable for Geralt. 

The next thrust and the one after feel deeper, and make Geralt feel even more split open and raw. Dettlaff keeps fucking him and it doesn’t get better. Somehow Geralt can’t get used to the intrusion, his body unusually human and overwhelmed. Every new movement is full of pain, but Geralt knows pain, he knows how to let it slide over him and how to mute it. What he can’t ignore is the impossible feeling of fullness. Of having something too large shoved inside him again and again without any reprieve or mercy. 

Dettlaff growls, the sound more monstrous than before. 

“I’ll breed you, witcher,” he hisses against Geralt’s neck, licks it with an unnaturally long tongue. “Fill you up until you’re heavy with it, until more of my kind grow inside you. You’ll make monsters instead of killing them.” 

“That,” Geralt tries to speak and then grunts when another thrust forces all air out of his lungs. “That’s not possible.” It really fucking isn’t, both because he’s a man and a witcher. 

He can see himself from the corner of his eye, though. His abdomen looks rounded, stretched around Dettlaff’s increasingly monstrous cock. Fuck, Geralt can see where it’s moving inside him, making his stomach bulge unnaturally. 

Dettlaff’s thrusts turn more vicious, excruciating. Geralt struggles, breathes through it and fuck. Fuck. He knows the cock inside him wasn’t that enormous before. Now that he’s noticed, he can feel it – every new thrust reaching deeper inside him than before, stretching him wider. He can feel Dettlaff behind him, over him, and he feels larger, his body and his skin more inhuman than before. 

Dettlaff fucks him harder, so hard that every thrust would send him sliding across the ground if Dettlaff wasn’t holding him in place. It’s still too much and it burns and hurts and Geralt wants to scream with it. Everything inside him is pushed aside, rearranged to fit that monstrous cock. When he starts considering if the still growing size of it inside him will actually kill him, Dettlaff finally stops. Presses all the way in and stays, and then howls so loud the air shakes. His cock pulses inside Geralt, fills him with more seed than a damn horse. 

Dettlaff pulls Geralt up, moves him until he’s sitting up in Dettlaff’s lap, enormous cock still inside him, still pulsing faintly, filling Geralt with more come. Geralt’s thighs are straining from being forced wide enough to straddle Dettlaff’s monstrous form. However impossible, his stomach already looks like he’s expecting – rounded, skin stretched too much. Dettlaff rolls his hips with a deep groan and for a moment it looks like something’s moving inside Geralt, right under his skin. 

His whole body is straining, shivering, covered in cold sweat. 

He can’t. Can’t move, can’t think further than no, _fuck no_ , he can’t do this. If Dettlaff were to let him go, he’s not sure he could run. If there even were any place he could run to, and not a magic circle trapping them here. 

_Fuck_ , Dettlaff shifts again and Geralt feels it all the way inside, all the places Dettlaff’s cock presses against. And it presses against _everything_ inside Geralt. His body tries to respond, his own cock slowly filling now that the pain has changed from the hard, sharp bursts to this all encompassing ache. 

“You should pray that it _is_ possible,” Dettlaff growls. He no longer sounds anything like a human. “Because we shall stay here until it happens, Witcher.” He runs his clawed hand, skin pale gray and alien, all the bones too long and some with too many joints, over Geralt’s dangerously rounded stomach. 

There’s a hum of magic in the air. It should be fucking impossible, but no matter how his mind tries to recoil from the thought, Geralt is... no longer _certain_. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Give and Take](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27989172) by [Jondiplier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jondiplier/pseuds/Jondiplier)




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